He was a buddy I never met. We were e-mail friends. After reading his novel, In the Shadow of Glory, I wrote him and told him that I enjoyed his book. It brought back a lot of memories. I told him I had written some notes many years ago in anticipation of writing a book, as he had done, based on my experiences during the Korean War. He became my mentor as I embarked on my novel. Periodically, I e-mailed my progress to him and he always sent back words of encouragement. Regrettably, he died unexpectedly on November 27, 2002 just a few days after I finished the first draft of my novel. The story below is one he posted on the Internet for all to read. I am proud to reproduce it here in his honor.

THE OLD MARINE ON 9/11

By Robert B. Campbell

The old Marine lay motionless on the narrow bed in a veteran’s hospital. Despite the oxygen flowing into his lungs from the plastic tubes inserted in his nostrils, his breathing was labored and painful to watch. His sunken eyes were open, fixed on the softly murmuring television set mounted high on the wall at the foot of his bed. He didn’t need to hear the sound; the captions scrolling across the bottom of the screen were more than adequate to explain the ghastly pictures flashing on the screen.

As he watched the horrifying scene playing over and over, tears slowly formed in his eyes then coursed down his hollow cheeks. His mind was in turmoil. This can’t be happening, he moaned to himself. No! Not here in America! He winced as the big jet flew into the second trade tower; this time the footage was shot from a different angle, showing a rearview of the plane as it plowed headlong into the majestic structure. His heart lurched violently in his chest, just as it did each time the grisly, mind-boggling scene was repeated on the screen. Now the station shifted back to live coverage. Both towers were burning fiercely, sending huge gouts of greasy black smoke into the blue September sky.

The minutes passed in agonizing slowness. Each scene on the television was like a hammer-blow to the old man’s soul, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen, no matter how deep and painful the hurt. His almost hypnotic attention to the newscast was snapped when the young nurse quietly slipped into the room. Her normally sunny face was a pale and grim mask now, her eyes reddened from crying.

“I’ll just turn the television off now,” she said softly, reaching for the remote lying on his bedside table.

“Leave it alone,” he rasped. His voice, though weak, still had a tone of command that stopped her from turning off the set.

“I ain’t no baby,” he growled. “Now leave me alone.” With that, he turned his attention to the disaster playing out on the screen. He was no longer aware of the nurse who stood watching the television a moment before leaving the room as silently as she had entered.

Just then one of the burning towers gave up the ghost and began to collapse onto itself, blanketing the entire area in a boiling shroud of dust and smoke. To the old man, it almost seemed to be happening in slow motion. When the second tower collapsed not long after, he moaned and gasped for air. It took several long minutes before he could suck enough oxygen into his tortured lungs. Omigod! All those people. Dead… all dead! his voice shrieked in his mind.

Now he could no longer bear to watch the mesmerizing scene of chaos coming from the television. He moaned again and slowly rolled his head on the pillow until he was staring at the stained wall a scant few feet from his bedside. Though open, his eyes were painting nothing on the canvas of his mind. Ohh, God, he groaned inwardly. If only I could do something… anything.

The tragedy he had spent the morning watching had saddened him deeply, but it had also angered him as nothing had angered him before. The worst part was knowing that he was totally helpless to do anything about it. This was almost as unbearable for him as watching the terrorist attack unfold before his eyes.

“Jesus. Oh Jesus,” he muttered. “I’d give anything to be there now.” He didn’t know what he could do, but just being there ready and able to pitch in and lend a needed hand was something. It wasn’t as though he’d never been in the thick of things before, by God.

He became aware of the wall in front of him. It was bare except for the glassed shadowbox frame containing medals, ribbons, dogtags and other small bits of military memorabilia– mementos from his hitch in the Marine Corps a half century ago. He was so proud of them and of what they stood for. His wife had brought in the framed collection and hung it by his bedside, hoping the sight of it would cheer him a little.

The old man squinted his eyes, focusing them on the gaudy display of cloth and metal. Though his sight was a little dimmed by age and infirmity, he saw the ribbons and medals as bright and shiny as the day he was awarded them for his service in the Korean War. Yeah… he’d done his duty for his country back then, and by God he’d willingly do it again today if only he wasn’t bound to this damned bed.

The image of the two magnificent towers crashing to the ground played in his mind again. He felt his heart constrict as though some giant hand were squeezing it. Pain… piercing, agonizing pain shot through his entire body. He couldn’t breathe. Frantically, he tried to suck air into his starving lungs but to no avail. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it any longer, the pain suddenly lifted, and he could breathe easily now. He became aware that he was standing at the foot of the bed… looking at the old man lying there. He glanced up at the television set mindlessly playing away high on the wall, then returned his gaze to the man in the bed. There was a rictus of a smile on the wasted face, but life had mercifully departed from the old Marine.

The young Marine heaved a sigh of relief, then drew himself stiffly erect and saluted the old Marine in the bed. With a look of grim resolution on his lean face and with a firm step, he marched out the door. The old warrior was on his way to New York City to report for duty one last time.

E – N – D

[1] Mr. Cheek has written dozens of short stories under the general heading of Digressions of J. Charles. He is also the author of the novel Stay Safe, Buddy – A Story of Humor and Horror during the Korean War,300 pages, Publish America ISBN # 159286631X

While wintering in an RV Park in Arizona several years ago I was talking to a fellow who inherited some dry land wheat farming land in central Washington. He was not yet old enought to qualify for a social security check but said he was doing okay in retirement as the federal government sent him a nice check every year for not growing a crop on his land. He said something like, “Imagine that, the government pays me for not having a job. Stupid, but I’ll take it if they want to give it to me.”

Nowadays, one significant component of the price increases in some groceries is the governmental subsity of crops being used for biofuels. Corn is the example often used.

The average U.S. house size grew from 983 sq. ft in 1950 to 2.377 sq. ft. in 2010.

Source: Betsy Towner, aarp bulletin

My first home purchase was a new 3 BR single bathroom and single garage on a large lot. Total square footage was around 1,000 and it cost me $10,200 in 1961. My income was $550/month or $6600 per year so the house cost 1.55 times my annual income. In today’s dollars that purchase price would only be 6.39 x 10,200 or $65,178.

On a damp, gray morning in late February, Navy admirals, U.S. Congress members and top officials of the nation’s biggest shipyard gathered in Norfolk, Va., to watch a computerized torch carve bevels into a slab of steel as thick as your fist.

The occasion: the ceremonial cutting of the first piece of a $15 billion aircraft carrier slated to weigh anchor in 2020. That ship — still unnamed — will follow the just-as-costly Gerald R. Ford, now 20% built and due to set sail in 2015.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, China is putting the final touches on a new class of DF-21 missiles expressly designed to sink the Ford and its sister ship as well as their 5,000-person crews. China’s missiles, which will likely cost about $10 million each, could keep the Navy’s carriers so far away from Taiwan that the short-range aircraft they bear would be useless in any conflict over the tiny island’s fate.